


Naval-Gazing

by ThePreciousHeart



Category: This is Spinal Tap (1984)
Genre: 1970s, Hook-Up, Jealousy, Living Together, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sexual Experimentation, Title Subject to Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28907841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePreciousHeart/pseuds/ThePreciousHeart
Summary: Nigel's never minded when David brings his female dates home to their shared flat. But when David brings home a man, Nigel suddenly minds. A lot.
Relationships: David St. Hubbins & Nigel Tufnel, David St. Hubbins/Original Male Character
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3
Collections: Blue's Fic Drop Fridays





	Naval-Gazing

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [a deleted scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CgmWhDi4kBw&t=2283s) from the movie.
> 
> This story takes place in the early 70's, but I have no idea how that fits into Spinal Tap's established timeline. Then again, it's fanfiction, so let's just roll with it.

David wasn’t alone when he returned from the pub. That was by no means unusual. Since the recent split with his live-in girlfriend/wife/whatever she had been, he’d taken to coming home most weekends with a bird on each arm, and now that he was crashing with Nigel, the latter never batted an eye. As long as the women were out of the flat by morning and he didn’t have to fry up an egg for them or make small talk while David was still asleep or in the shower, he didn’t care what David did in his spare time. In turn, David didn’t say a word the few times Nigel brought someone home, although he did once warn Nigel to do a better job of picking up after himself, having stumbled across a bra and matching panties that one of Nigel’s dates had discarded and forgotten about weeks earlier. 

David’s company tonight, however, didn’t strike Nigel as the bra-wearing sort. Most likely because he was a man. A uniformed man, in fact, who was missing the hat but otherwise would have looked right at home on the bow of a naval ship. Next to David, with his wavy, shoulder-length hair and glittery eyeshadow and hints of blush on his cheeks, he appeared wholly out of place. 

“Oh, Nige, you’re still up,” David blurted as soon as he’d come through the door, the unknown man traipsing in right behind him. He glanced from one face to the other, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket as if he didn’t know where to put his hands. 

“Yeah.” Nigel had accompanied David to the pub- it was a Friday-night tradition- but he tended to leave early, ostensibly to watch a few programs he’d otherwise miss, but really to give David a better chance of scoring. _No one can compete with this_. Now he wondered if perhaps his effort was in vain. He grabbed the tea kettle that had just reached its boiling point and poured the water into his mug, watching David and his visitor closely. 

David unzipped his coat and started to peel it off, but the man who’d come home with him stepped in front of him. “Let me—” His voice was flavored with an accent that Nigel couldn’t place. David pressed his lips together in a strained smile as he let the man take his jacket off. Removing it revealed a silver jumpsuit with a neckline that plunged nearly to David’s waist, accentuating his lithe figure and exposing the carpet of blond hair that covered his chest. If he’d set foot in any pub other than his local, Nigel was sure he’d get beaten up within seconds. He himself admired the look, as it flattered David more than his former vest-and-bell-bottoms ensemble. It reminded Nigel of another David- Bowie, to be exact- and had inspired him to experiment similarly, although he mostly stuck to a bit of eyeliner here and there. He’d also grown out his pageboy cut, though his shaggy hair was no match for David’s long tresses. 

“Thank you.” David took his jacket from the man and gestured to the nearby couch. “Come on... sit down...” The man complied. Nigel raised his tea to his lips, though he refrained from taking a sip. He supposed he had better say _something_ , because it wasn’t like David to leave him hanging like this. 

“Who’s this, then?” 

“Er, this is...” David turned to where the man had seated himself on the couch, his feet planted firmly on the ground and his back straight as a broom handle, as if he were waiting for an _at ease_ order. “This is Santino.” Santino nodded as David glanced back at Nigel. His voice was a nigh-inaudible mumble, his hands in his pockets and his eyes lowered. “He’ll be spending the night.” 

_Wha_ — _?_ Nigel took a long, deliberate pull from his tea, thoroughly put off. It seemed awfully inconsiderate of David to invite some random bloke from someplace to spend the night at their flat, without consulting or even informing Nigel of it first. He fixed David with a hard stare. 

“What, does he, like, ship out in the morning or something?” 

“He...” David checked to make sure Santino was still sitting comfortably on the couch, before coming into the kitchen area, moving so close to Nigel that their shoulders briefly brushed. “Yes. It’s complicated.” 

Nigel set down his mug and crossed his arms. “So I’m supposed to let a complete stranger have my bed? Or are you putting him up on the couch?” 

David exhaled and returned his gaze to the floor, but his words, quiet as they were, were direct. “He’ll be sharing mine.” 

He pushed past Nigel with an unintended brusqueness, heading towards the cupboard. “Nightcap, Santino?” 

“Sure!” Santino replied jovially, apparently the only person taking the situation in stride. Nigel glanced at him for a long moment, trying to judge his character, before returning his focus to David. Once David had turned back around, with two tumblers and a half-empty bottle of scotch whisky in hand, Nigel grabbed at his arm. 

“David.” He spoke as softly as he could manage, gazing directly into David’s startled eyes. “He does know that you’re... that you’re not...” He swallowed. “I mean, it’s not a...” 

David’s eyes hardened. “Don’t throw a fit, Nigel.” He pulled his arm out from Nigel’s grasp and surged forward, but Nigel moved too, blocking his path. It wasn’t fair- he _wasn’t_ throwing a fit, he was just concerned that David might have misrepresented himself, and that was all there was to it. 

Nigel spoke rapidly. “If you need me to bail you out, I can do that.” 

David’s only response was a shake of the head. He pushed Nigel aside and went on towards the couch, brandishing the scotch. “I’m afraid this is all we’ve got at the moment.” 

“That’s all right.” Santino’s dark eyes sparkled as he took the proffered tumbler from David’s hand. Nigel watched from behind the kitchen counter as David sat down next to him, uncapping the bottle. The two were awfully close, their legs touching, leaving hardly any space for dust. David poured the scotch into each tumbler, while Santino’s gaze tracked his movements. Now that he’d gotten away from Nigel, he seemed much less flustered, and more sure of himself. He held his glass aloft. “Cheers.” 

“Cheers,” Santino agreed, clinking his glass against David’s. They each took a sip. Then Santino threw an arm over David’s shoulders. His hand settled at the back of David’s neck, fingers winding into his hair. Nigel held his breath, waiting for David to pull away or tell him to stop that- but David never did. Instead, he leaned into the touch, as if he’d been waiting all night for it. Nigel’s stomach twisted, and he crept back to where he’d left the kettle sitting, searching for his tea. 

It made sense, in a way. For a few months now, ever since he’d started going out in his exotic getup, David had been banging on about exposing one’s true self and living without the boundaries of male, female, or otherwise. Throughout it all, Nigel had been very encouraging, not only because it did sound rather utopian, but because it got the band a lot of attention in the press, and he welcomed any kind of reaction, negative or otherwise. But to see David now extending his explorations to an area where the press had no involvement made Nigel feel... odd. As if he were doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. Though why should it matter to him? David wasn’t forcing his lifestyle on anyone, and it wasn’t Nigel’s business to judge... 

The warm mug in Nigel’s hands steadied him for a second. He took a sip, before turning and striding over to where David and Santino had situated themselves. The two had gotten much closer on the couch, their heads together as they exchanged murmurs. A static shock rippled through Nigel as he noticed that Santino had laid his hand over David's. It wouldn't have surprised him if they'd kissed right then and there. As soon as Nigel cleared his throat, though, David jolted back, folding his hands in his lap and glancing up at Nigel as if he’d just interrupted him during a particularly intimate moment. Which Nigel supposed he had.

“Would you like some, Nigel?” David indicated the coffee table where he’d set the whisky bottle, while Santino cautiously sized Nigel up, blinking. 

Nigel shook his head. “Got my tea.” He took another sip and watched silently as David got to his feet, brushing down his jumpsuit. 

“Well... we’ll be on our way.” He nodded to Santino, still seated. “Come on. I’ll give you the grand tour.” 

“Have fun,” Nigel muttered, sinking down into the easy chair next to the couch. He refused to watch as Santino took David’s hand and hoisted himself up. They departed the room, while Nigel reached for the TV remote and turned it on. With David’s bedroom being right across from his, he was in no mood to retire for the night. 

Though Nigel tried to focus on the television, his thoughts kept turning back to David and Santino. His heart sank in his chest. He’d always thought he was the tolerant sort, and even prided himself on that, but knowing that David was about to sleep with another man left a bad taste in his mouth. Although it really wasn’t David’s fault. He had a right to bring Santino home, just like he had a right to bring all those birds home from the pub. So clearly the problem was with _him,_ for not being open-minded enough. Why else would he feel so sickened watching them, wishing that Santino would rip his hand away and head out the door, leaving David alone?

Shame washed over Nigel. He would have to try harder to be more accepting if this was to become a regular occurrence, although in his heart, he hoped it wouldn’t become one. He drained his mug and stared at the TV as if he could force himself to find it interesting. One thing was for sure- this man was _definitely_ not getting breakfast in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> ...So yeah, that's called "jealousy," Nigel.


End file.
